The Official John Watson Blog: All Entries
by TeaNaiswell
Summary: My name is Dr. John Watson. My therapist recommended that I frequently write this blog. I discuss my flatmate and several cases. Especially lately, since Sherlock's finally returned, things have been getting quite interesting.
1. Dealing With Sherlock

**Dealing With Sherlock**

So it has been a week since Sherlock came back. I just can't get myself to be like Mrs. Hudson - I can't welcome him each time I see him, in that motherly way, handing him a nice cup of tea. I can't be like Molly either. I won't, each time I happen to brush shoulders with him, pretend like nothing happened, like he didn't disappear for three years. Let alone ignoring him completely, I haven't given a damn to pass a glance at him. And I'm not sorry at all. No. Having people believe that you have been dead for three entire years, not giving a single bloody clue that you aren't actually gone... I can't let that just pass like that. I promise I won't either. I am not forgiving. He won't always have his way like that.

Sherlock, not exactly being human, tries asking for forgiveness in his own little weird... Sherlock-ian way. What does he do? You can't be surprised. In the beginning, he would try to hand me a bag of crisps or ask me if I wanted a cup of tea. I would just pretend he wasn't even there and leave or something. After a few days, he really wanted me to talk. (Weird, huh? Sherlock trying to get someone to talk!) He gave me a cup of coffee and said he made it all on his own. And he bought the milk himself. What did I do? I left him and his cup of coffee and got away from that bloody room and went for a walk. I needed some air.

As of late he has been quite urgent. I will never understand what goes on in that funny head of his. Neither can Mrs. Hudson, as she confessed to me, but she is just too thankful that he isn't... you know. While I was reading a book he tapped my shoulder. I didn't look up. He tapped again. I still didn't look up. He gave up, and right when I thought he was going to leave he began to tell me something. Keeping my eyes on my book I was still forced to hear so he told me Mrs. Hudson had called me down for something. This time I had to say something. I asked him what for. He told me that she didn't tell him, and that I just had to go down. And I did.

Mrs. Hudson, I saw, had just returned from shopping. She saw me and, saying I looked quite pale, asked me what was the matter. It clicked. Of course Sherlock had just said that. Mrs. Hudson didn't need me for anything.

I went straight back up and went to Sherlock, fuming, and I could feel the heat rising to my face. I couldn't trust myself to speak but I did anyway.

"What the bloody hell was that?" I choked.

"What?"

"You know exactly what, Sherlock."

"Did you settle things with Mrs. Hudson?"

"Just stop it, Sherlock! Stop this!"

"I did nothing. I don't understand why you're yelling. Why are you so angry all of a sudden?"

"You did something, Sherlock. It's not like I'm angry just now! Just stop trying to talk to me because I'm telling you, I swear I want you to get away from me." I felt a little surge of guilt the moment I said that last part. But that didn't really get to Sherlock.

"I still don't understand why you are so angry."

"Read my face, you idiot! Deduce me or whatever the hell you do. Blimey!" I started away, rather excited now.

"You are mad because I have been gone for three years and did not tell you I was not actually dead?"

I said nothing.

"Well, is it, then?"

"Shut up, Sherlock. Just shut up."

"Why?" No, I couldn't take it anymore.

"You - you unfeeling muppet, do you just think you can have everything the way you always want it to? Do you think it is fine to not drop a single bloody word of anything at all? Do you think it is alright to keep no one in confidence of your little plans? NO, Sherlock. You think you're the only one who is smart enough to get everything you think. You think everyone else around you is too stupid to understand your plans and so you don't bother to fill their ears with things they wouldn't get it anyway. Of course, you're the best there is and you with your usual condescension won't let anyone interfere in things which Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, and I have every right to know. You know what? What can I expect, anyways? Usual, incompassionate Sherlock going about as always. I though you had more feelings than - than -" I stopped; those last words I could not risk putting through.

"Than what?" he asked, his eyes shining. He tried to suppress a smile. I felt my ears burning, and my eyes stung a little.

"Than a MACHINE, Sherlock!"

He raised his eyebrows and drew in his lip, turning back to his lapop. I went directly up to him and turned his laptop away from him and made him look at me.

"Sherlock, do you have absolutely no feelings? Of course you don't. Were you not even thinking of Molly? Were you not thinking of Mrs. Hudson at all? Were you not thinking of how they sobbed themselves sick? Were you not thinking of how Mrs. Hudson, her fragile self, might take all of this? Did you not even think of -" No. I couldn't bring myself to continue. I pressed my fingers to my eyes.

"Of you? How you might be taking it?"

"I can't do this. I need some air." Sherlock was quiet as I grabbed my jacket and made to reach for the door, and he seized me.

"What are you doing?" I choked. He pulled me back to the desk. "What are you doing?"

He went on about how he did all of it to protect me; it was only now that he explained everything, all about Moriarty's plans and how he had figured them all out from the beginning itself. He acted out every bloody reaction I saw. It was the only way, he said. Taking me 'hostage' and all else was no all committed impromptu: this had been all expected of in advance. He'd actually gotten Moriarty to kill himself... he said that as long as Moriarty was alive, he could protect whoever he wanted and discover the code. And that's what got Moriarty to shoot himself. It made the entire faking death thing a breeze.

No: I'm not ignoring him now. I don't pretend he doesn't exist. I talk to him. I had to forgive him once he'd explained it all. I'm not motherly or anything, like Mrs. Hudson. I'm not pretending like it never happened, like Molly. Of course I'm not nice to him. But, as grudgingly as it is, Sherlock is satisfied with my conduct now. That's enough for him. He knows that anything beyond that will come in time. Although I'm determined to give nothing beyond what I give now.

Sherlock, if you're reading this, get the bloody hell out of my blog. Yes, don't be so pleased with yourself. Remember what I said yesterday. Anyone else reading this, don't ask about what I said.


	2. Paparazzi and News Rumors

**Paparazzi and News Rumors**

Not much had been happening lately. Not much happening lately, with Sherlock around! I can't believe it either. There hasn't been a case in the longest time. Normally Sherlock would rant on about his dread of being bored. I mean, I can still see the sluggish look on his face when he isn't on his laptop and there's no serial crime to solve. I feel bad for him when he begins nastily criticizing about soap opera re-runs from the eighties on the telly. Note to self: _never_ leave the crime drama channel playing in front of him. He blows up into a terrible uproar. There would be less damage if I had a mad cat running around the flat. But why isn't he roaring into complaint about being bored? As much as I regret to say it, I think it's his other way of apologizing. Or trying to not get me mad. I mean, I haven't exactly been that accommodating toward him but I gave a genuine apology. But I suppose he just doesn't want me to be mad. I mean, that's as far as I can guess. Or he's gotten used to keeping quiet when he's bored like when he went into hiding. But I can never imagine Sherlock getting used to quieting himself during those 'times of dread', let alone him getting used to being bored.

But he's trying to not attract attention lately. I don't know why but I rather expected him to want something of a grand entrance, but I suppose not. When he's got to leave the flat he gets stares. Well, he got plenty of stares at first like someone had seen or ghost or something. I don't think anybody had believed their eyes first. But later they did. And that was not too good because the paparazzi began following him the moment he stepped one toe out. Well, it isn't like he wasn't a celebrity before he'd left. There was bound to be more soon.

And there was. He's made the papers now. For the second time since he came back.

The first one marveled at his 'ghost' haunting Baker Street. Some people say they see him re-enact what happened at St. Bart's the day everyone thought he was... you know. Some cabbies say they see him appear out of nowhere in their cab. And there was a report of him haunting the moors. Haunting the bloody moors, for god's sake! (There are some ones involving him and a swimming pool, but I think that's all I will say about that.)

The second one wasn't quite as ridiculous as the first. People are beginning to realize, at least, that he isn't a wandering ghost or something. No one knows how he's alive though, but I'm apparently not supposed to mention anything of that on here for legal reasons. Anyways, the paparazzi has been following both me and Sherlock walking together. I don't know how the bloody hell they captured that but they did. It was one of the headliners and it talked about growing suspicions that we're together. I mean, yes, I know there's nothing wrong with it even if we were, but we aren't. People are serious about us. If there's anyone out there that still cares, I'm not actually gay. That article included a lot of... wild instances that never occurred. I'm just trying to put those rumors off. And I can hardly be surprised, because it was Kitty Riley who wrote that article.

There hasn't been anything else besides this one thing that happened when we left the flat. There was this random bloke in a sweatshirt with his hood pulled over his head that came up to Sherlock and asked for his autograph. Sherlock deduced him and pointed out that his time was being wasted and pushed him aside, pulling me along with him. But the kid, or teenager or whatever, kept following us and told us that Sherlock needed him. Sherlock asked him what he wanted, but the bloke kept muttering something that I, at least, didn't get. But all I heard is something about a Moran. I don't know what or who he's referring to, but then I heard him say that Richard Brooks left him to do one last thing.

Any suggestions you guys have? Sherlock has been busy in his laptop trying to understand the whole thing, researching on 'Moran' or whatever. Neither of us really get it. What do you all think?


	3. Moran and Richard Brook?

Well, I forgot to mention I had gotten in touch with Jeannette earlier on this year. I haven't the slightest idea why but she called anyhow. Maybe she'd been wondering how I'd been getting along with things these past three years. I don't know. It was in January, and she began discussing her family, and how there seemed nothing to do that New Year's week. She asked if I wanted to get coffee with her sometime; I think she'd forgotten about how she'd dumped me, but anyways, I did get coffee with her. We only saw each other a couple times in a few weeks. Nothing really ever got that serious. It lasted, though. It lasted up until about a month ago. Never got a call from her since then. No emails, no text. By then there were other things to adjust so I never really got around to calling her myself.

Eventually I started to wonder what was up. I think I knew, but I wasn't sure. So I called anyways. Got no response, though and she wouldn't reply to my texts either. I wrote her an email or two asking if she wanted to go out for coffee again. I hadn't gotten a reply then either.

Sherlock has not been responding to me when I ask him a question or anything. He's confined to himself lately. Well, to his laptop too. He's been drafting several entries on The Science of Deduction. You might want to check that out because I think he might be posting something soon and he's probably going to ask for suggestions. But I've been asking him what this all means and he won't say anything. I don't understand him. The only hint I've gotten from him is that he's noticed something strange in the papers, in the articles about me and him. Something like a code. He has his suspicions about who left the code but he's not final with anything yet.

Haven't heard anything more about or from the hooded teenager that looked like a schizophrenic (well, that last bit was what Sherlock said about the bloke). I don't reckon there was much significant about the Moran thing. As far as I've heard, Sherlock made no mention about that. But he's a bit more flustered about the mention about Richard Brook. I'm frankly rather worried about that bit too. He's keeping quiet around everyone and researching as many news articles as he can about clues left in it three years ago. He keeps all the papers that we get now. The flat is once again a mess.

He's watching the news more than ever now and says there's something implied behind it. I still can't understand it. He's gotten really into it though, I can tell, because Mrs. Hudson's just come from Speedy's and brought us some lunch and Sherlock made some strange comment and bade her off. I'll let you know if he figures anything.

**Added ****13:18****: **

Okay, several minutes ago I got a text from Jeannette. Sherlock noticed it first while he was sitting at the corner of the room. He knew it was from her because I hadn't been getting any alert lately otherwise; he deduced that she texted to dump me. Because according to him, 'She wouldn't call to respond to your invitation, as she hadn't for the past month. She would only call for two reasons and two reasons only, being the possibility that she is either in trouble or just wants to end the relationship, and the latter being obviously more likely, it ought to be true.' I argued, saying that there had to be more possibilities. If anything, she had to be in trouble. Then Sherlock made the face. Because he was surprised that I suspected he was wrong.  
Well, it turned out he was right. She dumped me. And nastily like last time. And after I'd read it, Sherlock said, 'She stopped texting you a month ago." I already knew that, of course, though. But then he added, "I appeared in the papers a month ago for the first time."

Well, I tried to put off those rumors from the papers and convince Jeannette otherwise! He and I are not a couple. I told her that again. Sherlock told me to not expect a response. I reckon he might be right. Alright, he just read the last sentence and said to change 'might' to 'is'.

* * *

If you've read the papers, tell us any of your suggestions. You might hear about it on Sherlock's blog, you can leave him suggestions too. I'll make sure to pass on any clues you've got :)


	4. The Silent Captor

**The Silent Captor**

A new case! Sherlock might be the happiest person I have ever known. Weeks after weeks of suppressing his growing insanity over being bored really exhausted him. Of course, things that make Sherlock happy aren't quite exactly what makes normal people happy. In this case, though, I'm not exactly terribly sad or anything, but the incident shouldn't have happened. Somebody posted on the forum in The Science of Deduction: she said that her sister is being held captive. And in this situation the said sister is Kitty Riley.

You couldn't be surprised that Sherlock was constantly muttering things to himself in his strange excitement all through the night. It was bloody annoying when he burst into my bedroom in the middle of the night, bringing his laptop in with him and showing me a new post that Kitty's sister Lydia added onto her earlier one. Lydia posted that she received a call from Kitty saying strange things, as though she were reciting lines of poetry or something. Lydia'd heard her sister shrieking and begging to her captor now and then, but nothing was heard from the captor unfortunately. Sherlock asked Lydia to come to Baker Street and discuss things from there.

And then a few days ago, Sherlock received another post on his forum. It was from Jeannette's mother. She said that she'd begun constantly sent e-mails and calls to Jeannette but none were being attended to. Sherlock, annoyed by the ambiguity, asked Jeannette's mother how long her daughter has been unresponsive, and she quickly responded, saying that it was about a month ago that it began.

A month ago! Sherlock reminded me that Jeannette stopped responding to my calls and texts. Right away, he made for my phone and scrolled through my texts, something I couldn't stop him from doing, (he'd known my phone passcode for a long time, by the way) and reminded me that I'd gotten a text from her just last week. Last week! And she'd been unresponsive since last month! Her captor had her phone. Right then, Lydia Riley came to our door, and Sherlock was more than delighted to have her in. She was a bit scared. Very scared. And, as he should have known, distraught.

He flew with questions at her and then she'd begun to cry. He went back to his bedroom; he asked me to call him back when Lydia had gotten over herself. Of course. I demanded him to stay there and be a little more comforting.. something that he struggles with. He listened, at least, remaining complacently quiet (not exactly comforting) until she stopped crying. Finally she said that she'd recorded the call and she played it for us. She was right; it did sound like Kitty was reading from something. It was from some novel, I could tell, and I knew instantly that Sherlock would know something of the lines that were read. But Sherlock looked disappointed. He promptly stood up and told Lydia to leave and post on his blog again when there was 'any real clue that would help with the case'. I didn't understand. Neither did Lydia. I could she was stifling a sob, and she left without saying anything. I asked Sherlock what he'd meant by it all. He's not saying anything and he's not eating.

Lydia hasn't responded or said anything since that day. I thought she might just go ahead to the police but she's sticking to Sherlock, and that's what he's fixed on. He won't say anything at all. He's composing a piece—a rather strange one, because even Mrs. Hudson is a little startled by it. And he's being bloody well annoying as he was before because whenever I ask him if he's got any other clues or anything lately, he smiles and turns back to what he was doing.

I'm confused and I reckon Sherlock doesn't want to admit that he's flustered too. If Sherlock gets another post on his blog, or if we get any other clues, I'll let you know. Make sure to check up on The Science of Deduction. Seems likely I'll post again today—Sherlock's on the verge of having an outburst right now, I can tell.


	5. The Artless Alias

**The Artless Alias**

So here's the update on what happened last week. I haven't been able to post anything in a while. It was quite difficult to wrap my head around the whole thing but I reckon I'm back to my senses now. Sherlock, same old Sherlock, is so pleased with himself that he's hyperactive.

None of it turned out to be what I expected.

Sherlock remembered the lines of prose that Kitty had read through the recording. He concluded it symbolically talked about someone being shown how they have much potential to be weak in a certain situation. Well, of course, Kitty's captor had some enmity toward her. Obviously he was already proving to her that he could have her in a weak position by kidnapping her. Perhaps he liked to emphasize on it as mental torture to her, and wanted Lydia to hear it also to teach the sisters a lesson or something. Frankly, now I'm not surprised Sherlock deemed it useless to the case itself. He waited for some other update and he grew quite restless. He wouldn't tell me what's buzzing around in his head. Whenever I brought it up he smiled complacently but I could see something else was behind it.

He'd called Lydia back to his flat, and that day itself: she did come but not in the best state. Sherlock, sighing very much frustrated, asked her not to cry, and without any further delay directly asked for a number. After a lot of hesitance that she didn't know what Sherlock was talking about, she gave him what he was asking for. I hadn't any idea what Sherlock was referring to but then he tracked the number—I concluded it had to be where Kitty was held hostage. Obviously Lydia could have tracked it herself, so I asked her why she didn't give it to Scotland Yard to handle? She said she was being threatened and watched, and so had to approach a more secretive way.

Sherlock, a little to my as well as Lydia's surprise, told her to come back after a week's time. But why a week? Sherlock didn't need a week to think. He loved to boast that he could solve a case in a few minutes. A sudden change in plan?

And a week was his intention to wait. After she'd left, I asked Sherlock what his plan was—he told me there was 'other business' to be taken care of (I reckoned he was bored with the case and his attention was drawn to something else). He never told me what it was but all I knew was that he disappeared at random times in the day and more frequently at night without saying a word. Mrs. Hudson found the behavior strange—which, actually, we realized to be normal for Sherlock anyway. Upon returning on one of the nights, he told me he figured out something. He'd told me that he confirmed the hostages were held at where the phone number was traced. I agreed to come with him the next day. I reckon I'm quite used to going off to strange places with Sherlock without asking more than I should.

So we'd driven a tremendous amount of miles, well out of town, along with several more towns until there was an incredibly barren, rural location that almost reminded me of Dartmoor. We were nearing the place, it seemed, and there was this small, worn building that seemed out of use. Of course, an ideal place for hostages. Sherlock was armed, holding his gun in front of him in case the kidnapper himself might be armed in there. Upon walking in we'd seen a single room with nothing but an outlet and a telephone. Nothing else. It was entirely empty. Sherlock realized, seemingly to his disappointment, that the captor must have moved the hostages elsewhere by now. And then someone walked in; whoever it was had heard what Sherlock said just now.

It was a woman. Lydia Riley. She began tossing comments here and there that I didn't comprehend. And the she told Sherlock that without needing video cameras or anything, she was easily able to see when he came to the building and when he left (that's what he was doing the past week). As a trap she moved the hostages to another location so that Sherlock would think they were still here. SHE was behind it all! Lydia Riley herself created the situation to confuse Sherlock! But that wasn't all. Sherlock couldn't be tricked like that. In response, Sherlock confidently assured that discovering a new location would not be difficult, and she could be caught quickly. And then what Lydia said next was worse.

She said the hostages were not even hostages in the first place; she paid them to play the role. And then she took them to a new location. And she killed them. And there wasn't anything at all that could connect her to the kidnap or murders, since her methods masked it all cleverly. Sherlock's eyes fixed steadily on hers and he wouldn't say anything. I asked her why she would need to kill them at all if she could bribe... and then she told us that it was all to show us her potential—she told us that she was to be feared, that she was kind to give us a heads-up before her real scheme went into action. Lydia seemed cruelly insane. I had no idea what Sherlock was to do.

And then Sherlock made a number of deductions about her, making clear that she was one to act on impulses; _if_ she did any planning at all before carrying out a scheme, it wasn't more than a week in advance. Lydia laughed at him and said that he spoke this way when defenseless—and right then he emphasized that she was incredibly poor at deducing, for she would have before known that Sherlock (with the help of Mycroft, he'd later told me) arranged for all of the agents she had involved in the case to report her actions and whereabouts to Scotland Yard. She would have known that when she entrusted them to kill the hostages, the agents put them in a death-like sleep and from then on, the hostages were, in fact, free.

Sherlock didn't stop there. He went on, pointing out her demeanor (which, at this point, was frozen) and her behavior from when she came to our flat. He deduced that there were some motives about her, that her actions 'resulted from something of vengeance and work that was left to her, perhaps from a close friend or perhaps a lover who died' and targeted Sherlock specifically. He noticed from her poor disguise that 'her physical response to what was evidently her alias Lydia Riley' gave her away at once. She'd spoken beforehand to journalists to place clues now and then in the papers (and at one point even recruited the hooded teenage bloke) just for the amusement of playing around with Sherlock, just as Moriarty had. Her hand was far too similar to object of affection, and she thought it 'clever to forge the same signature as the one her opponent knew far too well' and eventually it was she who set her own trap ready.

The only true agent she had, Sherlock said, being the hooded teenager, was a far too poor choice for an agent—the knowledge he had was more than was good for her safety. The clues he gave Sherlock were not as ambiguous as they seemed—and with the help of a poor disguise and the terrible quality of acting on impulses, it could be never more clear that she could not have been anyone other than Sebastienne Moran. Sherlock went on to say, once more, that he was kind to give her a heads-up that the police were on their way.

It took me long enough to understand everything that happened. The following week was a steady one, but Sherlock was pleased with himself and the game he had played. He doesn't seem engrossed in anything else. I suppose nothing seems suspicious to him for now.

He knew about the whole thing for a long time. I'm still a little overwhelmed since I knew nothing until Sherlock revealed it to Moran. I'm a bit frustrated with Sherlock, actually. And he realizes it, because he seems more pleased with himself than usual after a case.


End file.
